


New Rules

by haganenoheichou



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fuckbuddies, Keith doesn't want him but he takes what he can get, Lance gets his heart broken, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining!Keith, Pining!Lance, Sex, Shiro is Straight, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/haganenoheichou
Summary: Lance keeps breaking his rules for Keith. His heart, his bed, all of it – he just can't keep Keith away.And if you're under him, you ain't getting over him.





	New Rules

**Author's Note:**

> So I was listening to [New Rules by Dua Lipa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2qgadSvNyU), and I had to write this because I need pining!Lance so badly.

“Lance! Open up!”

I don’t move. My back pressed up against the door, I sit on the cold metal floor of my space-cabin-room-thingy, trying very hard not to abide by the impulse and move. Move to open the door and let him in yet again.

Like I had been doing almost every single night, for the past… Hell, I have no idea how long it’s been. Too long. Too long for me to try to fool myself into thinking that this was healthy. For him, maybe; though I doubt it. But for me?

I was slowly treading my way towards destruction. A complete decimation of my heart and my brain and my entire livelihood because of this stupid boy and his stupid hair and his stupid need to come running to me every single time something went wrong and he needed a shoulder to cry on. A drinking buddy. A distraction in the form of my legs around his waist and his dick in my ass. Or down my throat. Or whatever.

_Don’t let him in. You have to kick him out again._

“Lance!”

I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

No. I have new rules now. Rules I will actually stick to and see through until there is absolutely no trace of him left anywhere: not in my mind, nor in my bed.

I’ve always been terrible at seeing things through.

The door hisses open, and I'm met with a glare.

“What took you so long?”

I meet his eyes and wordlessly let him come inside. He sits down on the edge of the bed he just left this morning and places a bottle on the nightstand. "Check this out. Altean booze. Coran's found some in the cellars. He thinks it's still good. Supposedly it's about the same as what we have on Earth. Wanna try?"

I lean against the wall, looking at his excited face, his earnest eyes, the way his body looks weirdly natural on my disheveled sheets.

“I’m not… legal yet,” I squeeze out, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not either. Not in the U.S., anyway, but that’s all, y’know, semantics,” he says with ease, reaching out to uncork the bottle without my consent. I helplessly follow along, sitting down next to him as he takes his first swig and makes a face.

"Man!" He grimaces and hands the bottle over to me. I have no idea why I'm letting him do this, but before I know it, I'm gulping down what feels like acid, burning its way down my throat. I cough, and he laughs.

“This is some good shit,” he says, reaching for another taste. I’ve had enough but I know I’ll have more. Because that’s what it’s like with him. I have enough. Or I think I do. And then somehow, I end up having more. More to the point that I can’t even think about anything but him and his stupid hair.

And the way he looks at me in the moment. Because I know he's projecting something onto me. Another person's face. Another person's body. He looks at me, and then he closes his eyes, and he chokes out another person's name.

We both know how this works by now. We drink the night away, and by the time he fucks me, I'm incoherent, and he's giddy, and it works.

The hangover is a bitch, though.

It hurts less than him whispering _Shiro_ into my mouth as he kisses me. I pretend not to notice and just concentrate on _feeling_ him. It works for a while. I come. I guess that’s… more than I can hope for.

The next day, I’m back to sitting at the door, waiting for him to come knocking. He’s seen it, just like we all have; Shiro, with his bionic arm wrapped around the princess’s waist, his lips pressed against hers. They’d thought they were alone, but the entire team just came bounding in and… yeah, we know now. Not that it wasn’t obvious before. Shiro is straight as the stick he has up his ass, and there’s nothing he can do about it – except come to me and vent his frustrations.

My communicator pings and I ignore it.

_You know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone._

I know. I know, I know, I know, damn it!

I don't know why I'm typing out a message in response. But in a matter of minutes, his tongue is down my throat, and I feel more wound up than I had been all day – and we just finished de-Galra-fying another planet, guns blazing and all.

I pretend not to notice that this time when he says Shiro's name, I'm tasting salty tears on his lips. I have no idea whose they are.

We experience pretty joyless orgasms, but it's okay. He's distraught, I suppose. Well, welcome to the club, loser, I think bitterly, as I roll over to put some distance between us. I don't like to listen to him as he gets up and starts putting his clothes on to leave. That's what normally happens.

This time, it doesn’t, though.

This time, I’m the one who’s imposing on him. I don’t know if I should go. He’s not kicking me out just yet, so maybe… maybe I can just keep up the pretense for a little longer?

“Why her?” He breathes, and I feel my heart breaking. I can hear it, I think, shattering into a million pieces. The blood pounds in my ears, and I just shift, trying hard not to look at him.

 _Why him?_ I want to ask, but I don't because I know why. Because Shiro is perfect. He is infallible. Shiro walks on water and turns babies into wine. Or something. He is… everything, brighter than a fucking star about to go supernova, and it is so easy to get ensnared by that.

To want it.

Except for me. Sure, I mean, I’m not blind or anything, but I have my eyes set on someone else. Someone much more accessible, some people would say. Except he’s not. He’s not because even when I have him, he belongs to someone else. Someone who can only give him a pat on the back and a little halfway smile.

“I don’t know,” I finally manage.

_Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning._

“Should I go?” I ask when enough time passes between us to make things awkward.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. You can stay the night if you don’t want to move,” he says, and I can tell he’s holding back tears. If I were in my normal Lance mood, the one he so openly hates, I’d tease him about it. The ultimate soldier, the ice prince of Voltron, being vulnerable.

I don’t.

I end up staying the night.

The next morning, he wakes me up with a rough kiss and a silent plea. I let him, because, well, I always do. The bed doesn’t creak when he does it to me. I grasp his arms, letting him have all the leverage. Like I always do.

The same thing, over and over, I do it again and again and again, and he is fine with it because my legs are spread, and my heart is open, and my bed is welcoming.

I sob into the pillow when I’m back in my room because why not?

_If you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him._

Aye, there’s the rub, I think bitterly as I wipe away traces of my tears and our morning from my body, the steaming hot shower washing away another mistake.

I don’t want to. Not really.

Fuck the rules.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a line?


End file.
